Reminiscences of the Nineteenth Massachusetts Regiment

by John G. B. Adams

With a firm resolution to get through the lines we began our journey. It was a dark, rainy night, and we had to guess our route. We came to a place where the road forked. Frank was sure he knew the road we ought to take, and I was just as confident that he was wrong. We scolded each other for an hour, not daring to speak above a whisper. These cat-fights occurred nearly every night, and we made up in the daytime. One not in our place might think it strange that we should lose our temper, but we were strained up to the highest point, and were nervous and irritable. It was the same with nearly all who escaped. I have known two men who were fast friends who were never the same after they were recaptured. Not so with Frank and I. He was such a dear, good fellow that he gave in to me nearly every time.

Finding we were on the wrong road we struck across the country and came upon a nice cabin near a large house. We were listening under the window, and could hear the hum of a spinning-wheel. As we stood there a woman opened the shutter and, as the day was just breaking, she saw us. We entered the house and found a yellow man in bed. He said, “Go away from here.” We told him who we were, but he would do nothing for us. We had our clubs, were in good fighting condition and holding them over him made him swear that he would not tell he had seen us. The woman was friendly and gave us directions how to reach the creek, but we dare not take the road, fearing the yellow fellow would forget his promise. This was the first instance where a man with a drop of negro blood in his veins had refused to help us. We turned into the woods, but they were so thin that we were forced to cut down small pine trees and stick them in the ground where we lay down. It was so cold we could not sleep, and as we dare not travel through this open country, we kept alive by rolling over and over on the ground. Besides being cold we suffered for food, as we had eaten nothing since the previous day. We could endure it no longer, and late in the afternoon resumed our tramp. Calling at a cabin, a negro baked the last morsel of meal he had in the house for us, and after we had eaten it, directed us to the creek. Here we found a new trouble. Kilpatrick’s cavalry had burned the bridge, and we had “one wide river to cross.”

We made a raft out of pieces of plank, and went over all right. Frank was on the forward end of the raft; as we reached the opposite bank he caught a grape-vine and swung himself on shore. He left the raft and so did I, the only difference being that he was safe on land while I went into the water and came up under the raft. He fished me out, and with my clothes nearly frozen on me we continued our journey. Arriving at an old mill we called up the miller. He let us in, but was afraid to keep us, as the rebel pickets were very near, and liable to come there at any time, so we must keep in the woods. I was too wet to lie down, so we ran along in the edge of the woods. We saw places where Sherman’s army had camped only the day before, and the fires were still smoking.

As we were running along we saw a negro coming towards us on horseback. Driven by hunger, we hailed him and asked for food. He said he was going to mill, but would return in about an hour and would take us to a place where he could feed us.

We waited until he returned, when he told us to keep him in sight and follow along in the woods; we had gone only a short distance when he began to whoop and put his horse into a gallop. What was up we could not make out until, looking towards a shanty, we saw a rebel soldier walking towards us on crutches. He came near and said, “Come out, boys, and have a talk.” We looked at each other, then at the Johnnie Reb. There were two of us with two clubs, and, so far as we could see, only one rebel, and he a cripple; so we came out. The negro came riding back, and we asked him what it meant. He looked frightened, but said, “I know this man; his father raised me. He fought, but he never wanted to fought.” The rebel said it was not safe to stay there, but designated a place where he could meet us; he mounted the horse behind the negro, and we went through the woods.

Arriving at the place designated, we saw our Johnnie jumping and coming all sorts of gymnastic performances. We demanded an explanation; he said, “I am as sound a man as there is in the Confederacy. I was slightly wounded at Atlanta, and was sent to guard your boys at Andersonville. I saw them starved to death and swore that if ever I could help one get away I would. Now is my chance, and I’ll be dog-goned if I don’t do it.” He was a typical rebel in every respect, a regular Georgia cracker; hair long, high cheek bones, tall and slim, but he talked well and appeared earnest. After the negro had turned out the horse he came to us and he and the rebel talked over the situation. The trouble was what to do with us now we were with them. Johnnie suggested taking us home; the negro said it would not do, as his wife’s sister would betray us; but Enos (his name was Enos Sapp) said the Yankees had her husband a prisoner and he reckoned she would be mighty glad if some one would help him. They talked over all the chances of the rebels finding us. We listened with much interest.

At last Enos said, “Gentlemen, I am going to take you to my house; it may make a row, but I am boss of my own ranch.” Being in his hands, we could do nothing but go with him. The house was only a short distance off. Enos walked on his crutches. He said if the war lasted thirty years he should use them until the end. When we arrived we found two log houses; in one were two women and five children; the other was the servants’ quarters. Poor as our friend was he owned slaves; one, the man we had seen in the woods; the other, the man’s mother, a poor broken-down old woman. He introduced us to the women as two friends of his. They sat in the corner of the fireplace smoking corn-cob pipes, and said very little to us, not because they were displeased but because it would require an effort to talk. We made ourselves at home. One of the women asked me if I would have a smoke. As I had little chance to indulge in my favorite habit I gladly accepted her offer. She took the pipe out of her mouth and handed it to me. That broke the ice; we talked upon various subjects, mostly of war. Enos’s wife said the Yanks used them better than their own men, as the rebels took her best horse and the Yanks left the old one. They didn’t seem to know or care what army we belonged to. Supper was announced and we went outside to the other house. I suppose this was the dining hall. The table was set, but there was not a whole plate on it or two pieces alike. The old colored woman waited on the table, poured the tea and passed the food.

Our host was a religious man and asked a blessing at the table, but he had a hard time carving the pork and remarked that it was tough as h—. After the vesper meal we returned to the mansion. The pipes were the first thing, and as they all wanted to smoke, they fixed up a new one for me. Enos then told them who we were, and we saw indications of fear on their faces. The sister, whose husband was in a Yankee prison, asked if we knew Sam. We could not recall him, but without doubt had met him, and assured her that wherever Sam was, if in a Union prison he had enough to eat, a good bed and all the comforts of life, more than he would have at home. They questioned us about our Yankee women. They said they had heard that they wore good clothes and had jewelry; we told them they had been rightly informed, and they said, “Why, you all have no slaves; where do they get them?” Our answer was that our women worked. We told them of the mills in Lowell and Lawrence, of the shoe shops in Lynn, and other places where women were employed. “Well,” they said, “we would like nice dresses and jewelry, but we could not work; no woman could be a lady and work.” So those poor deluded creatures were happy in thinking they were ladies, while they wore dirty homespun dresses, ate hog and corn-bread, and smoked pipes in the chimney corner.

When it came bedtime Frank and I were puzzled what to do. The rain came down in torrents and we had been so wet and cold, besides being very tired, we thought it best to remain over night, but there were only two beds in the room and eight people for them; where did we come in? One of the women got up and from under one of the beds brought out an old quilt and a blanket; she said we could make a “shake-down” before the fire. We were glad of that, for we had had no chance to skirmish since we started, and there were too many of us for a bed. The women went behind a curtain that was let down in front of the beds, undressed the children, tucked two in one bed and three in the other; the man and wife slept with two, the sister with three.